Chapter 1 : the explosion
**"Hey, hey, hey… who is trying to wake me up?"**
Rag was in a half-asleep state, trying to wake up. He was about to doze off again, but something nagged at him — a feeling, a whisper in the back of his mind. Something important.
*"Was there something I was supposed to do?"*
For a moment, he just lay there, thinking. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes.
**Wait — where the hell am I?**
Confused, he tried to remember what had happened before he fell asleep, but the moment he reached for the memory, there was nothing. Like staring at a page that had been erased, leaving behind nothing but unreadable smudges. He could almost feel the outline of what should be there, but it was just gone.
He sat up and looked around. The street was empty, bathed in the dim light of an evening sunset. Dirty walls, a trash can, spit stains on the pavement — and a corpse.
**Wait. What?**
His brain caught up a second too late.
**What in the actual f—**
His breath hitched. His body jolted. His stomach twisted. He screamed.
Panic hit him like a hammer. His thoughts scrambled over each other, trying to make sense of the scene in front of him.
*"Where am I? What the hell am I doing here? Why is there a corpse? I feel like I know, but… it's just not there."*
His hands trembled as he pressed himself against the wall, trying to ground himself. For what felt like forever, he just sat there, his mind looping through the same questions over and over.
Being recoiled back a few meters, he took a look at it, trying to analyze it to the extent his brain could handle.
It was a woman, probably in her 20s. Just lying there, peacefully — except for the hole in her head, bleeding profusely.
What disturbed him most was how red the blood was. Fresh. It had only just started to smell, which meant this had happened just a few hours ago.
Eventually, he did what any sane person would do — he tried to run.
But something inside him felt… strange. A pull. A sensation that told him to stay. He didn’t want to know what had caused this, but somehow, he couldn’t turn away. The fear was there, but something else — something deeper — was pushing him forward.
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As he walked toward the corpse, he heard a voice.
**“Hey Rag, what are you doing?”**
Before he even turned around, he knew the voice was calling him. The instinct to reply came fast — too fast. Like he had heard it a thousand times before.
He looked back. A woman in casual clothing, long hair, a worried face. She was walking toward him.
His body wanted to tense, but it didn’t. He should’ve been on guard. He should’ve questioned her. But instead, there was this quiet certainty — like an invisible hand was guiding him forward. And that alone was unsettling.
Still, in shock and confusion, he followed her, his mind blank.
As Rag slowly gained awareness, his confusion sharpened into frustration.
**"Can you explain what the fuck is going on? What is that thing doing in the middle of nowhere?!"**
The woman let out a huge sigh as they entered the building. She glanced at her watch.
**"FUCK!"**
Without warning, she threw him into the elevator and slammed the button for the 13th floor.
When she tossed him in, Rag caught a glimpse of her face — she was worried. No, more than that. She was terrified.
Disbelief. Horror. A mix of emotions that screamed danger.
He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t move. All he could do was watch as the elevator doors closed, sealing her outside.
At the last second, she turned and ran — not inside, but toward the stairs.
His mind raced. His body still felt heavy, but some deep, unshakable instinct screamed at him to move.
As his legs finally woke up, he slammed the emergency stop at the 10th floor. He didn’t know why. He just knew he had to.
The moment he stepped out, he saw her — sprinting down the corridor, heading straight for a window.
His stomach dropped.
**"Wait —!"**
She didn’t hesitate. She threw herself forward, crashing through the glass.
Rag forced his body forward — too slow, too late.
For a brief moment, he saw her falling through the air. Then—
A sudden bright light consumed his vision.
A shockwave tore through his ears, sharp and unbearable.
When the blinding light faded, Rag forced his eyes open.
The girl was gone.
She had exploded.
---
Running would’ve been a mercy. His legs refused to move — like his body hadn’t caught up to the nightmare.
**Rag:**
*"What in the actual fuck is happening? Did she just pull a stunt straight out of a war crimes manual? And why the hell am I crying for her like I knew her?"*
As the reality settled in, the pain became real. His ears rang. The taste of iron lingered in his mouth. He could feel the blood dripping down his neck. The muffled screams from people — both inside and outside — felt distant, like a nightmare bleeding into reality.
What the fuck just happened? My ears... I can't hear. My body... won't move. And her face — why can't I stop thinking about her face?
Desperately, he crawled away, squeezing his eyes shut. His mind screamed for answers, but all he got was silence.
He didn’t wait for the authorities. Before anyone could arrive, he escaped.
Eventually, he found a lonely corner on the street. Slumping down, he buried his head in his hands. Time passed — or maybe it didn’t. The world buzzed around him, distant and unimportant. Fourteen minutes. That’s how long it took for the weight in his chest to ease, just enough for him to think.
The paper the girl had given him was still clenched in his hand, folded six times. He hesitated, then slowly unfolded it.
**Rag:**
*"What language is this even written in?"*
He stared at the scribbles. The letters twisted and blurred, like they were mocking him. His eyes traced the lines, waiting for the words to click into place. But nothing came.
It wasn’t just unfamiliar — it was incomprehensible. His mind groped for meaning, but all it found was a void. He knew he should understand this. He knew. But the knowledge wasn’t there.
And then it hit him.
**Rag:**
*"Oh, fuck. I can’t read."*
He let out a hollow laugh, the absurdity of it gnawing at him.
*"So I can’t read. I have no idea where I am, who I am, or why I can’t read. And the only clue I have is a note from a suicide bomber girl who, for some reason, I feel sad for. Despite not recognizing her. Not remembering her. Not understanding why."*
He laughed again, though it wasn’t funny.
*"Well, I’m screwed beyond comprehension."*
Still desperate, Rag’s eyes darted around. He spotted a man walking by — wearing sunglasses, despite the dim evening light. Perfect. He forced down the trembling in his hands and stumbled up to him, deliberately breaking his words.
**Rag:**
*"Excuse me. You know… what written… on paper this?"*
The man tilted his head, his sunglasses reflecting the pale streetlights. For a second, Rag wondered if he could see through him — see the act. But the man only smiled.
**Man:**
*"Oh, it’s an address. Looking for this place? I know it. I’m heading somewhere nearby. Come with me, I’ll show you."*
Rag nodded. He didn’t hesitate. Not too desperate. Not too calm. Just lost enough to be believable.
After five minutes of walking, they stopped in front of a rundown building. The man turned, his half-smile still lingering.
**Man:**
*"Well, looks like this is the place."*
